


Driving us to a Dangerous Folly

by Loki_Chaser



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hitchhiker AU, Hitchhiking, M/M, Or should they?, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:02:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9836768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Chaser/pseuds/Loki_Chaser
Summary: “Would you like a ride?” Hannibal asked, lifting an eyebrow. Will looked back at the car. “I’d feel bad if I got the interior of your nice car dirty. And it also makes me feel like a sketchy hitch hiker. I just met you.” The unspoken “what if you try to murder me” hung in the air. Hannibal schooled his features into something trustworthy and gave a polite smile.“Yes. And I’ve just met you, Will. Would it qualm your fears if I told you offering rides to hitch hikers is something of my hobby?” To that Will let out a laugh. Hannibal tipped his head, listening to the sound, like an animal trying to hear more clearly.“Then I’d question how you haven’t been murdered yet, Dr. Lecter.”Modified Hitchhiker AU. Will is not all that he seems. But of course, Hannibal is Hannibal.





	1. Drive All Night, Never Gonna Get Me

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written anything in what feels like forever and I recently fell into the rabbit hole that is Hannibal and Hannigram in general. I saw this on tumblr and had to use it as a writing prompt: https://tinyurl.com/gp47cwn  
> Unbeta'd.
> 
> So, somewhat of a modified hitchhiker AU. Also, how many times can I use the show’s own quotes in my own writing?  
> I do not own Hannibal.

Roads had always held a particular interest to the psyche of humanity, Hannibal mused. Their etymology stemming from journey on horseback, to the current day and age of automobiles. Everything had a journey; to or from places, those that seem to drag on, and those that can end. Suddenly.

He was briefly reminded of a particular occasion driving Alana home, many years ago, after a particularly grueling day at the clinic. It had been raining and the road had been hard to maneuver from the wet and lack of visibility. Something had caught her eye, and Hannibal was forced to pull over and grant access to the glossy interior of his vehicle to a soaking pooch, as Alana gripped the sad mess in her lap. She’d been grateful to take the pup to a shelter, safe and warm, and thanked him the next day. While it had smothered the leather seats and left an odor that lingered for a week, Hannibal was able to see the ingenuity in a such a simple ploy and solution. And if being able to pose as a kind soul for a wandering pup, why not a larger goal?

There were always hitch hikers; often young things with sour mouths and spiked attitudes.

It hadn’t been a difficult implementation practice. Being kind to your fellow man always showed empathy and compassion on a profile, if the worst were to occur. So, some journeys kept going, while others were stopped short, all by design. Whether it was considered to be Hannibal’s design or God’s, he declined to answer.

The Chesapeake Ripper had recently struck again, as the FBI release claimed. Another sound of 3 victims, young women who had run off from home for whatever reason. Hannibal didn’t have a preference, it had just seemed that women ran off at a high rate in their area, and he didn’t mind the pleasant company of polite individuals.

He drove home from the clinic that Saturday evening in a pleased mood. There had been some filing to take care of, and loathe to try to find a good receptionist, the dutiful doctor took the paperwork into his own hands. He somewhat missed the days of Alana’s internship, and the ability to make her do the papers for him. She was kind, he mused. She had budded into the kind of psychologist who cared deeply for each patient. She would learn in time.

The day was clear and the air crisp with the beginning tinges of fall, yet warm enough to drive with the windows down. He smelled the beginnings of rain, but at his speed he hoped to out drive its first drops. The expensive car purring pleasantly across the asphalt. He had a full fridge at home, and the director of the FBI for a dinner companion. A clever ruse was always the most obvious. Hannibal leisurely rounded a curve in the road, only to see a figure standing off the side, car hood propped open, and agitated pacing obvious. For a full minute, Hannibal considered not stopping, letting someone else deal with the mess on the horizon. On the other hand, it was always an amusement to further shatter the hopes of the FBI once they considered his pattern to finally be set.

He slowed the car and pulled onto the shoulder, and debated his approach as he flipped the key and opened the door to stand. The other man had heard the roar of the engine and its sudden quieting. He watched Hannibal quietly, making no move to greet him as he turned back to the defunct vehicle. Rude, Hannibal thought.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Hannibal asked, calmly making his way over and again grasping the man’s attention briefly before he looked away again. His body language all but screamed to be left alone, but Hannibal welcomed a challenge. After a few beats of silence, the man took a deep breath. He turned his body slightly toward Hannibal; an acknowledgement, but kept his eyes trained down and away.

“I’m not sure. All the lights turned on the dashboard and after pulling over it just won’t start anymore. And that was before it started smoking like a witch’s cauldron.” The man swept curly hair from his eyes. “I don’t think there’s much you could do for it.”

Hannibal looked over the scene, the fishing gear in the back, the man’s rumpled clothes and tired eyes, and the faint smell of dog under layers of acrid smelling smoke.

“Did you at least enjoy the fishing?” He mentioned, after a slight pause. The other man jumped, until he noticed the fishing rods plainly sticking out of the back window. “Yes, I did.” He said succinctly. More silence. “Sorry if you felt like you had to pull over.” Hannibal pursed his lips in mock concern. “It’s not technically an obligation to feel concern for one’s fellow man.” The other man scoffed. “Let it be henceforth proclaimed to the world that man's conscience was created free; that he is no longer accountable to his fellow man, being responsible therefore only to his God.”

Hannibal blinked. “President John Tyler. Interesting quote source. Do you often find yourself quoting men of great power? Mr…?”

“Graham. Will.” Looking at him, but still not looking into his eyes, the fisherman- now Will, extended a hand in greeting. “Do you find you often question people’s psychological quirks, Mr…?”

“Doctor,” Hannibal corrected, shaking the offered hand. “Doctor Hannibal Lecter. And I’m a psychologist, so, yes. I do.” Will nodded and gave a small half smile as he turned back to the car. “Well Dr. Lecter, it was nice to meet you, but I don’t think there’s much that can be done here.”

“Would you like a ride?” Hannibal asked, lifting an eyebrow. Will looked back at the car. “I’d feel bad if I got the interior of your nice car dirty. And it also makes me feel like a sketchy hitch hiker. I just met you.” The unspoken “what if you try to murder me” hung in the air. Hannibal schooled his features into something trustworthy and gave a polite smile.

“Yes. And I’ve just met you, Will. Would it qualm your fears if I told you offering rides to hitch hikers is something of my hobby?” To that Will let out a laugh. Hannibal tipped his head, listening to the sound, like an animal trying to hear more clearly. “Then I’d question how you haven’t been murdered yet, Dr. Lecter.”

“Please, call me Hannibal.” At that point, a shrill tone let out from Hannibal’s cell phone, and upon further checking, the caller ID proclaimed that his arguably most neurotic patient, Franklyn, was calling. He prayed it wasn’t about some other food item. If he called them “cheese folk” again, he was going to snap his neck. He also smelled the rain more heavily as he sighed.

“Excuse me, Will. I must take this call. I’ll be in my car for a bit if you change your mind.” He turned on his heel and walked back to his car, settling in for what was bound to be some inane rambling as he rolled up his windows. He watched Will out the front windshield, silently staring at his clunker of a vehicle before looking up briefly. From the silence of his car, Hannibal watched the expression of the other change from confusion to mild panic as he ran to his driver’s side door as the skies unleashed a torrent of sudden rain. Will pulled on the handle desperately, finally yielding and running to other doors, all of which he found to be locked. Hannibal quietly ended the call, promising to talk to Franklyn at their next appointment, and rolled down a window that Will silently walked over to. Hannibal was struck back to that first “hitchhiker” with Alana. While he was a good bit cleaner, Will did indeed look like a somewhat drenched dog.

“Would you like a ride?” Hannibal repeated to Will. The soaked man nodded and pulled the handle, clambering inside. Will rubbed his arms and pushed his wet locks out of his eyes. “I’m sorry to get your seats wet. I didn’t even realize my car had locked itself. Stupid piece of junk.” Hannibal let the man continue ranting, content to listen. He had developed quite the personality in the short amount of time. This hadn’t quite gone according to plan, but he was still certain to salvage the opportunity. “Where should I drive you, Will?”

The other man had gone still and silent. “I’m sorry, it’s about an hour from here but you can just drop me off in the nearest town and I can call a taxi.” Hannibal nodded, and started the car, adjusting the thermostat settings before pulling back onto the road. He watched Will shift so the hunting knife in his pocket didn’t dig into his thigh as he sat. They drove on in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Will spoke up.

“So, you’re a psychologist? If you were already going to medical school, why not become a surgeon or something?” Will shivered as the car began to warm up. Hannibal could tell he was forcing conversation but chose to continue. “I was a surgeon for a time. It grew weary, so I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts.” The dashboard of the car beeped and Will clambered to put on a seat belt. “And you?” Hannibal pressed. “What kind of work do you do that pushes you to make mentions of presidents and concern of murders?”

Will rubbed at his arms before answering. “I… Well, I was- am? Just teaching at the FBI academy, but they’ve pulled me onto some cases recently.” A slight tremor in the voice; Hannibal couldn’t discern if it was cold, or stress. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It’s just… all I’ve thought about recently. Trying to get into their heads…” He trailed off.

“You’re an empath.” Hannibal meant it as a question, but the statement only gave cause for Will to nod. “Yes. It’s really… draining.” Hannibal remained silent as they rounded a curve, the sound of rain hitting the roof of the car. “I’ve heard a lot of the Chesapeake Ripper. Is that the case you’re on?” Will remained silent in affirmation and Hannibal swallowed a smirk. Maybe keeping Will alive would be useful.

“I’ve worked with some FBI. Tough business. Are you required to complete mandatory health screenings?” Hannibal pried. Will stiffened and looked out the window as they began to roll closer to town. “I’m not technically… real FBI. I’m unstable. So, I teach.” Hannibal nodded. Will had a certain quality that he just couldn’t mark. “Those who cannot do, teach. Is that not the saying?” Will gave a choked laugh. “Yes, I suppose. Understanding how a murdered does what he does might also make others question my sanity. I mean you’re psychoanalyzing me now.”

“Am I?” Hannibal queried. “I thought we were having friendly conversation.” There was a beat of silence until Will spoke. “A friend, huh? I don’t have too many of those. Oh, I see a gas station that I know has a phone they’ll let me use. Just pull over there.” Hannibal pulled off onto the small lot, putting the car in park. Will all but leapt out.

“Thank you. For the ride.” Will looked up into Hannibal’s eyes for the first time, and Hannibal was taken slightly aback by their color. Differing shades of blue like fire opals shining in tired looking eyes. “The pleasure was all mine, Will.” The doctor searched his wallet and brandished a business card. “Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime.” Will nodded mutely, taking the card between fingers that had begun to shake, again, either from cold or stress. Hannibal watched Will retreat all the way until he walked into the crusted building of the gas station. There was something about the man that he tried to grasp in the short time, more than just his empathy, but it was as tangibly seen and grasped as smoke. Hannibal was off kilter, and Will Graham was the cause. Hannibal would be certain to keep this encounter in his memory. But he had dinner to attend to, and he generally wasn’t one for fast food.

* * *

 

Jack arrived promptly and politely at 7 pm. Hannibal welcomed him with a smile and a glass of Bordeaux. He remained quiet at the table as Hannibal brought out the Blanquette de Veau, only answering when asked direct questions. After a lengthy silence, Hannibal broached the subject.

“I didn’t think my cooking was so bad as to shock you into silence, Jack.” He teased, sipping more wine after a creamy bite of the dish. This seemed to jar the other man out of his stupor. “I’m sorry, Hannibal. Just a lot of news today and sometimes it just gets to a point where it sits heavily on you.” Hannibal nodded, urging Jack to continue. The director sighed, setting down his spoon as he leveled with Hannibal, frustration merging with professionalism in the dark lines of his face.

“There’ve been some new murders, the case just transferred to us today as soon as they determined it wasn’t one isolated incident. We thought that they might be the Chesapeake Ripper, but upon further investigation, the murders are completely different. I can’t get into this one’s head at all. He’s so much like the Ripper. Almost like, if they knew each other, they’d be friends.”

Jack sighed. “Sorry to bring this all up at your dinner table, Hannibal.” The doctor smiled. A darkness curling around the far reaches of his mind. Friends, indeed. “No need to worry, Jack. I understand this weighs heavily on you. And even I myself was feeling off before you arrived. But as this evening has already proven, it’s nice to have a friend for dinner.”


	2. We're Burning Down The Highway Skyline...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal took a moment to look over the brunette, every muscle tense and coiled to strike. His knife was halfway to Hannibal’s neck, steady, even with every shaky breath from its wielder. Will looked away quickly and released the hold on the knife handle, dropping it to the ground with a clatter. 
> 
> “I didn’t take you to be one so easily startled, Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say the devil's water - it ain't so sweet  
> You don't have to drink right now  
> But you can dip your feet  
> Every once in a little while...
> 
> {When You Were Young by The Killers}
> 
> A little less of actually picking up hitch hikers, but I'll wind that more into the story in future chapters.

With the first step onto the scene, Hannibal felt the mood shift. The usual emotions were there; disgust, fear, a swirling anxiety. But there was another feeling, sliding dark and deep under the ensuing tension, leaving a feeling like molasses in his mouth.

 

“I’m sorry to keep dragging you into this, Hannibal.” Jack stepped up behind him, tension riddling his shoulders. “This one is... different.” Hannibal schooled his features and nodded, following the director into the warehouse. As they passed, countless FBI agents averted their eyes and clenched their muscles, almost as if they were trying hard - like children- to ignore the problem and make it disappear.

 

“This is the latest,  _ piece _ ,” Jack spat, and Hannibal nearly gasped. It was to him, beauty itself. Delicate features curved just so before rigor mortis, kept in place with fishing wire, as if the creator was crafting a lure, to keep a tight hold. Figures suspended from the roof with fishing line to give an air of floating, the dust filtering through the dusty roof casting an ethereal glow. And there hung the specimen in question: the woman, a struggle ever frozen, and a man, grip unrelenting in hopeful victory. The beauty of Rome and the eternal struggle made flesh.

 

“He feels guilt,” Hannibal spoke suddenly, breaking the fragile silence. “He’s taking the girls, but this is not where they are to end up. Not the main end goal.” The doctor slowly began to circle the piece. Previous “pieces” had been leading to a similar story that he finally understood.

 

“Do you know the original story of Hades and Persephone, Jack? Our killer has been kind enough to show us his favorite sculpture of them after all.  _ L'Enlèvement de Proserpine. _ ” 

 

The director rolled his shoulders, as if trying to get an unpleasant weight dislodged. “Hades, god of the underworld, saw Persephone, daughter of the Harvest God: Demeter, frolicking in a field. He found her so beautiful that he snatched her up and took her to the underworld... Is that what you think he’s doing? Taking beautiful things on a journey to the underworld? Why the man? That’s new.”

 

Hannibal had completed his rotation and now again stood behind Jack. “Not quite. Persephone has always been a headstrong individual. In later iterations of history, man has always devolved the female; making them weak, soft...  _ free for taking _ , as it were.” Hannibal began to rotate again around the figures.

 

“I feel... He is trying to show us that is not the case. In Persephone and Hades’ tale, Persephone finds the door to the underworld on her own. She’s headstrong and decides to stay, eventually becoming Hades’ wife. Many times in their tales, she is cruel and vicious while Hades deigns not to answer, letting his lover dole out punishments as she sees fit.”

 

Jack pursed his lips. “So the girls are the masters of their own fate, then? What of the man? That can’t be our killer, can it?” Jack thought back to the silo of bodies from months ago, the artist sewn in among them, forever entwined of his work. 

 

Hannibal stopped at an angle, looking up into the face of the man. The wire had been unceremoniously shoved through his cheeks to create a snarl, the blood congealing where it had dripped from his open maw. A night and day difference from the tenderness shown the girl, her face serene even in struggle. A final and deserved rest. “The man is a villain. The girl was innocent. If you run some prints, there will be surely something that comes up for him. Perhaps there is something even for her in your files, but in the end, our killer has passed judgement.” He pointed at the man, “Guilty.” And then at the girl, “Innocent.” 

 

Hannibal proceeded to observe. So much time to replicate the fine details of the carving. Every press of flesh and pull of muscle that entranced every art lover, now ensnared Hannibal. The flesh that was locked in stone finally made real.

 

Jack huffed, causing Hannibal to break his gaze. “If she’s innocent, why did he kill her? Her file says she ran away. Abusive family, bad situations, et cetera, but now she’s dead. How does that proclaim her innocence?”

 

The doctor seemed to roll the words around in his mouth before answering. “Maybe not her innocence as a whole, but in the brief time that our killer knew her. He saw this man being a beast, and the girl, unwillingly taken to a place of darkness, where before she was forging her own path.” Jack sighed and rubbed a hand against his neck. “So what then? He understands her emotions but also the cruelty of the world?” 

 

Hannibal looked up one last time at the twisted face and the calm one, each a portrait in its own right. “Our killer understands animals, and begrudgingly, people.” Hannibal began to walk out of the warehouse, mentally keeping check that his ‘human suit’ was still in place. “This killer knows that at our base, humans are animals. And human emotions are a gift from our animal ancestors. But cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself.”

* * *

 

Back behind the wheel of his car, Hannibal paused to contemplate. The piece left at the crime scene was beautiful, but one aspect that stood out to him was longing. It sat heavy in his chest as he turned the key. He too understood the feeling. There needed to be someone else to know him, to understand him. Whether ‘he’ was the killer or Hannibal, even the doctor could not discern. Lost in thought, he rounded a familiar corner only to come across a scene almost exactly to a day or two prior. The clunky hood of the car was propped open, and the owner straightened up from peeking inside. 

 

As Hannibal pulled off the side of the road, the spared a smirking thought that the locks of brown hair from behind looked noticeably less damp than the last time he saw them. The figure looked up as the noise drew near and a flicker of grimace seemed to pass over Will’s face before schooling his expression to that of neutrality and crossing his arms.

 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Hannibal tried for light as he exited his car. “I fear this is becoming commonplace,” Will deadpanned as Hannibal walked over. Hannibal took a moment to look over the disgruntled man. His thick outdoors shirt had the sleeves rolled up, several patches of the red material already growing dark stains, with matching ones on the upper thighs of his jeans, smeared slightly as it seemed he’d tried to wipe his hands. Hannibal looked the opposite, his well-tailored, cream colored suit a far cry from oil patches and sweat stains. 

 

“Does my presence bother you, Will?” Hannibal asked, keeping his distance in an effort to give the empath his space. He could see the flickering blue eyes dart around the area, body language saying one thing, the eyes speaking another language entirely.

 

“I just found out that we have a shared acquaintance. I’m still coming to terms with how I feel on the matter. When you said you had done some FBI work, I wasn’t aware you were so close with Jack.”

 

Hannibal gave a tight smile. “We are professional. Or are you talking about the dinner parties he might have mentioned. As I said previously, cooking is a hobby of mine. I simply like to share it.” He began to advance, keeping his eyes on Will. “As it seems this hobby of your car troubles is being constantly shared with me.”

 

Will uncrossed his arms and stepped back, allowing Hannibal to look over the innards of the car. He knew little of car maintenance, choosing to go to professionals, but with the splatter of oil everywhere, even he could tell something was amiss. “Has your oil cap come loose, Will?” 

 

The fisherman didn’t respond for a moment, merely narrowing his eyes at the doctor. “Is... is that supposed to be joke?” Hannibal straightened and met blue eyes with his red-brown ones, slightly shocked when Will didn’t look away. He was somehow different today. Did Hannibal’s association with Jack perturb him this much?

 

“I assure you that I have the ability for humor such as any man. I’m quite partial to puns myself.” Hannibal smiled lightly. “I’m sorry if my joke put you off.”

 

Will turned back to the car. “Just keep it professional,” he muttered, closing the hood with a bang. 

“Or we could socialize, like adults. God forbid we become friendly,” Hannibal shot back as Will leveled a sharp look over his shoulder. “I don’t find you that interesting.”

 

Hannibal really did smile then, as Will rounded his car. ‘You will,’ he thought to himself. “Will you need a ride again today? There is less chance for rain but perhaps I can attempt to pique your interest over lunch?”

 

Will seemed to hesitate then, before closing his eyes and making a decision. “Sure. Lunch. After all, ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch, right?”

 

Hannibal continued to smile. “Orson Wells? You might not find me interesting, but I know I find you interesting.” Will continued to grab his gear out of the truck. Thankfully it was unlocked this time. Hannibal went back to the car and started it as he waited for the other man. Why did this man have such draw? Hannibal thought him useful, but there was another pull, deeper than the surface that rose up in the change in attitude when Will felt that he’d been deceived. The back passenger-side door opened as Will deposited his gear. Shutting it with his hip, he opened the front passenger seat and climbed in, tackle box in his lap and a sheathed knife on top. 

 

Hannibal silently started the car and began the drive. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Hannibal spoke up. “You know I can’t garner your interest if you don’t ask me things or talk about things.”

 

Will snorted. “I thought I already said I don’t find you that interesting.” He was silent for a few moments before considering. “Okay fine. Where are you from, Dr. Lecter? Hannibal isn’t a name you hear every day.”

 

Hannibal hummed as he took a turn. The knife sitting on Will’s tackle box shifted and he grabbed it to keep it from falling. “I am from Lithuania. I had a relatively happy childhood, but then I did not. Now I am here.”

 

Will regarded him for a moment. “That’s... incredibly vague.” Hannibal shrugged as the road turned to the highway. “Alright. Fine. Brothers or sisters? Where are they?” Hannibal’s lips pursed before he sighed. 

 

“I had a sister. Her name was Mischa. She died, and I miss her often. It makes me think of my childhood. Hence the previous vague answer.” As they took an exit and sat at a stop sign, Hannibal glanced at Will. “You have uncovered my tragic backstory. Congratulations.” The younger man was quiet before remarking, “It’s weird when you make jokes.” They were silent for longer until Hannibal spoke. “So you have dogs?” Will furrowed his brows before Hannibal continued. “The hair is all over your shirt.” 

 

Will looked down at his clothes in general. “Yep. 7 Dogs. Doesn’t quite make the attire for going out to lunch.” He muttered, fingering an oil stain. Hannibal nodded. “Which is why I thought I could treat you to some of my cooking. Perhaps then you will see why I have dinner with others, like Jack.” Will snorted but accepted the invitation through silence as they drove on through the town.

* * *

 

“Would you like to put down your fishing equipment?” Hannibal ventured when they came inside. Will had become distracted, looking over the paintings and dark furniture. He tilted his head at Hannibal’s question before looking down and saw that he was still holding his tackle box and knife.

 

“Oh, sorry. Just a habit to take them inside with me.” He looked around, asking for permission to set down his gear, as Hannibal pointed to a side table. He put down the box but took up his curved knife, running finger along the rough sheath before Hannibal spoke.

 

“Why does it bother you so that I might be close to Jack?” Will had acted differently when they met. Had something happened to make him feel this way, or was Jack’s influence on the man really that strong?

 

“Jack has some... interesting way of doing things.” Will spoke quietly. “There was a time that I helped pretty regularly with FBI cases. Jack would send me down some pretty dark paths, and wasn’t always concerned with how I came back up. He puts others in similar positions. I’m just trying to gauge if you’re a similar person, Dr. Lecter.”

 

He nodded, observing the way Will seemed to shrink in the dark space of his foyer.

“Jack is an individual who isn’t accustomed to not getting what he wants,” Hannibal began, slipping into his therapist’s mask easily. 

 

“He’s in the entirely wrong line of work for that, but he’s made his bed, I suppose. We all have our darkness. Even those of us who claim to be champions of the light.” Hannibal moved away from Will, hands behind his back as he looked over the room. A few books lay near his armchair that he hadn’t the time to put away yet. 

 

“Does he foist his demons on others? I am not FBI, yet I have seen more murders than any normal citizen. And you? What horrors has he made you witness, I wonder?” He ran his finger over the embossed cover of the top book, picking it up he continued.

 

“Has he ever lost someone to the dark? Pushed too hard on an already fragile psyche or an inflated sense of importance until they simply ceased to be?” He said almost lazily, flipping through some of the Italian artists’ works. A memory, faint and fleeting, of smart blue eyes and sandy blonde hair; of last gasps and final tears.The doctor licked his lips.

 

“A man who spends all his time in darkness, forcing others to drown in it until he gets what he wants. Is that not a man who, for all his attempts to defend what is right, is stained with darkness in his own deepest crevices?” He set the book down and cocked his head. “What do you think, Will?” 

 

His question was met with silence. He turned, finding Will’s eyes vacant at they stared at something beyond the air. His face suddenly sharper, predatory, as he maintained a knuckle-white grip on the knife. His breathing had suddenly gone rough, like every exhale was torture from a bleeding trachea.

 

“Will?” the doctor reached over to jog the torpid man. In a flash, the hand not holding the knife clamped down onto Hannibal’s wrist and he was staring into cold eyes, so deep and suddenly dark that he thought he might drown for a moment, only to be distracted by the flicker of the knife pointed at him.

 

Hannibal took a moment to look over the brunette, every muscle tense and coiled to strike. His knife was halfway to Hannibal’s neck, steady, even with every shaky breath from its wielder. Will looked away quickly and released the hold on the knife handle, dropping it to the ground with a clatter. 

 

“I didn’t take you to be one so easily startled, Will.” 

“I didn’t expect you to jump out at me Dr. Lecter.”

“I didn’t quite jump at you, Will. You seemed to dissociate and I attempted to bring you back.” 

 

Hannibal dropped his hand from Will’s sleeve and Will went silent. 

 

“Jack thinks I need therapy.” He muttered, going back to their previous conversation. Hannibal regarded Will for a moment. “What you need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there.”

 

The brunette looked up, meeting the doctor’s gaze and Hannibal in the eyes. “Last time he sent me to a dark place I brought something back.” A beat passed.

 

“I know something of dark places myself. But sometimes, the thing you bring back is you.”

 

The sleek man swore he could see something lurking behind the fragile facade the brunette wore but couldn’t place what. What darkness lay in the mind of Will Graham that regularly talking of death and human agony was a mere trifle? A piercing tone of a phone going off shattered the illusion. It was Hannibal’s turn then, to shake his mind and be present again. How much time had passed?

 

Will scrambled with his phone and blanched at the caller ID. 

“It’s Jack...” Hannibal’s phone briefly buzzed and after viewing the same name on the text, he sighed.

 

“So much for lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a continuation of how can I change quotes in the show to fit my needs. I’m an asshole who couldn’t find time to write and on top of that has a writer's block. Sorry if this chapter isn’t up to snuff. I’ll do better.
> 
> The knife in reference is not a hunting knife but a curved fish cleaning knife. They're long and curved at the end. I literally just googled "fish cleaning knife". 
> 
> Unbeta’d as all my pieces are. How does one get a beta reader?

**Author's Note:**

> Song for this Chapter: Night Drive by All American Rejects
> 
> Most of American life consists of driving somewhere and then returning home, wondering why the hell you went.  
> -John Updike


End file.
